A raw and brutally honest look at me - who I am, who I want to be, and how I am trying to get there. If you are easily offended, or have easily offended sensibilities, beware. This isn't the blog for you.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Mirrors

When my mental health professional (aka The Shrink) suggested an outlet for me, he stressed the written word. He really tried to push me towards writing my thoughts down in a journal (though of course making it seem like it was my idea the whole time). Damn you psychologists and your mental tools!

Blogging was close enough for me - sort of an online journal that other people may or may not ever read. But the focus of this blog was originally, and remains, Cymbaline's recounting of her path.

And looking back now (as I have recently passed the quarter year mark which has to be some sort of milestone, right?) I realize just how helpful a tool a journal can be.

I never kept a diary as a kid. I stored everything in my head. I didn't want to leave easily obtainable clues to my thoughts. Even before I was Cymbaline the Rebel, I still had older brothers and sisters who were able to sneak into my room at any time and access my innermost thoughts. Somehow, I really doubted that tiny little diary lock would have kept them (or my mother) out of my thoughts. So this whole journal-ling of my life was a totally new experience.

From a blogging perspective, it's interesting to see what works ( (i) based on comments I get here and emails I receive, some people seem to view me as sort of a train wreck and they just have to slow down to see the carnage on the side of the road, (ii) some vignettes which make up the craziness of my life, (iii) the sometimes wonderful moments which flutter down from the blue sky, (iv) David!!) and what doesn't work (my shitty attempt at fiction, certain parts of my life that are better left un-discussed - such as Lil Sis - who you may have noticed no longer graces these pages though she remains an active part of my life, my futile work trying to get you all to appreciate decent music).

But on an emotional level, it's even more interesting to me personally.

I am looking into a mirror. A mirror of my present. I am able to re-read what I've written here and get a sense of just what I'm thinking a feeling in a given moment. I have seen some patterns that I've never seen before (such as how my moods wax and wane based upon certain events). I have touched upon subjects I have never really been able to discuss outside of my padded cell (just kidding, I mean the therapist's office) and in many ways that's been extremely cathartic too. I have read my posts paying lip service to my feelings for David and that helped me realize that it was cowardly to say those things and then hide behind a million bad excuses for why I wasn't doing anything about it.

But also, a mirror into my past. The earlier posts were really just a recounting of some of the harsh times I grew up in. Re-reading them, seeing them on paper - seeing my perception of them on paper, has been a very painful and cathartic process.

It took a long time for me to recognize that I was a willing partner in my own self destruction. For years I blamed everyone but me. It was the system. It was orthodoxy. It was my mother. It was a rigid school education that couldn't accept anyone remotely different. It was that I liked sex more than "regular" Jewish girls. It was alcohol. It was this and that and the other.

Clearly, during this whole process I was tied to a chair and forced to watch it all play out with my eyelids taped open.

Over the course of therapy, a new partner in crime emerged. Me. I became part of the problem. I wasn't some stick caught in the strong river current, unable to escape, but rather i was, to some degree giving in and not fighting to make things better on my own. (And no, it wasn't totally my fault, of course not, but neither was I entirely blameless either.)

And once I admitted this, the process of healing was finally able to begin. There is no healing without truth. No recovery without healing - and no possibly bright future without recovery.

And re-reading my early posts - I see that I have been true to my self discovery. Yes, I mention the other causes as well (especially in the first few posts, where, in retrospect, I kinda sound a bit bitter at everyone else but me) but as I went on, I mention ol' Cymbaline as criminal as well as victim.

The mirror doesn't lie. It can't lie. Unless we distort the image. Then it isn't a true picture of who we are. It's simply another lie.

I want my mirror to be accurate. Because then I know that I am on the path - that the Journal is recounting the Journey - the straight path not the false one.

I would hate to think that I long for the bright future without being willing to put in the hard work that future will require.

And so I keep checking the mirror - for cracks and distortions. For lies, half truths and excuses. For anything which would lead me astray.

Because the true mirror never lies. And that's the mirror I want to see.

some people seem to view me as sort of a train wreck and they just have to slow down to see the carnage on the side of the road,

True, but also some (me for example) see pieces of you in themselves. Such as dealing with depression, parents, etc. It is like a novel where one can identify with the main character.

what doesn't work (my shitty attempt at fiction, certain parts of my life that are better left un-discussed - such as Lil Sis - who you may have noticed no longer graces these pages though she remains an active part of my life, my futile work trying to get you all to appreciate decent music)

not sure re: fiction (just not a big reader), but please continue on the Lil Sis (that post of you meeting her mom was amazing) and music :-)